Speaking Once of Regret

I want to be the man
smoking a pipe
as he drives
along Railroad Ave.
past Shaws
that bastard
he loves to hate

A 92-year-old woman
dies
on Easter
and the earth blooms Hyacinth
shudders and
remembers
that I was a woman
once
body as perfect
as an egg
as fresh and as delicate
too,

a regret
not to turn
your blood
to flower
when I could